


Beautiful Drug

by surreallis



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (1997)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's bad for her, but she can't seem to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Drug

He's sitting outside of her apartment door when she turns the corner and starts down her hallway. He has one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee, and his head is tilted back against the wall. He's staring at the opposite wall with his brows furrowed, in that way that makes him look a little cruel, and she feels a little like the floor just dropped out from under her.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, quietly.

He doesn't look at her. His eyes are hard, and his voice is low. "I thought you got home at six?"

It's nearly nine. It's a silent demand to know where's she been.

She stares at him, walking slowly closer, and she thinks about whether to answer him or not. Whether to give up any small part of her power.

"I get home when I get home," she finally says, putting an edge in her tone. Detective work isn't about being nine to five, and he knows that. He's been questioned enough, slept in enough jail cells to really know.

He looks at her then, his gaze starting at her knees and rising slowly. When his gaze reaches hers he gives her a slow smile and climbs lithely to his feet. She can't read his eyes, and that makes her uneasy.

"You gonna invite me in?" he asks, voice soft, that dangerous smile playing along his lips. A spark slides along that fine edge of her attraction to him. She tries not to stare at the muscles in his shoulders and arms stretching out the sleeves of his T-shirt.

"We agreed," she reminds him.

His smile fades. "I changed my mind."

"I haven't," she says.

He moves forward as she puts her key in her door, and stands so close he's almost touching her. He looks down at her with dark blue eyes from under lowered lashes. "You will," he says.

[]

She watches as he sits on her kitchen counter and drinks her liquor.

It's a violation of his parole. She could send him back to prison in a heartbeat. There's something inside of her loosening though. Unwinding. Her mouth is watering for the heat of the booze, the way it melts everything away and smoothes her out. When his blue eyes catch her gaze and hold, she swallows. It's not just the booze that makes her crave.

He slides his lips from the bottle and holds it out, offering. She can't look away from his wet mouth.

She shakes her head.

"What," he says. "You on the wagon now?" He snorts.

That spark inside of her picks up her anger. "I don't have to be," she says. "I'm not on parole."

He stares into her eyes, and she refuses to back down. They have a long moment of silence, staring intently, and then he relaxes and exhales a laugh. He grins.

She looks away.

He hops off the counter and steps right up close to her. "I wouldn't hurt you," he says, and his voice is a soft rasp.

"Yeah, you're a real prince," she replies, just as quietly, but she feels warm and a little breathless.

He takes a big drink from the bottle, holding it in his mouth as he looks at her. The bourbon shines on his lips and runs in one rivulet down his chin. She can smell it, and him. It starts a pulse between her legs.

He leans forward, pushing her up against the wall and pressing his mouth to hers in one quick motion. Her lips part, and the bourbon flows from his mouth to hers. She feels the warmth immediately as the alcohol stings, and his tongue slides against hers. He kisses her deep, pressing her head back against the wall, settling his body against hers. The bottle sloshes next to her ear.

"Anything you want," he says, roughly, against her lips. "I'll eat you out all fucking night if that's what you want."

"Chris… fuck." She gasps a bit. She's got her hands on his ribs, under his arms, and all she can feel is flexing muscle as he breathes.

"C'mon, Olivia," he whispers in her ear.

And she takes the bottle from his hand and drinks.

[]

She puts the condom on him herself.

He braces both hands on the wall on either side of her and watches as she rolls it on. "I've got the test results in my pocket," he says, a little disgruntled. "I'm safe."

She gives a soft snort and slides her hand around his hard, wrapped cock. "Safe is something you've _never_ been," she says.

He doesn't reply. He kisses her while he shoves her jeans down and then he turns her around, pressing his fingers in-between hers and forcing her palms against the wall. He nudges her legs apart with his foot. "Spread 'em," he says, and he laughs.

"Fuck you," she replies.

He presses close and then he grabs her hip and his cock is sliding inside of her. She rests her forehead against the wall.

He exhales warmly against her nape when he rocks against her, and she closes her eyes. The bourbon is warm in her blood, and he's big inside of her, and each time he thrusts he shoves them both into the wall and the pleasure washes out from between her legs all over her body. She feels full and alive, and it feels so good it drives every other thought out of her head.

He doesn't stop the same, slow, strong rhythm, even when she shifts and leans back into him, feeling the soft scratch of the hair on his belly and chest. He slides his hands up and holds her breasts, and his teeth graze the back of her neck. She has to bite her lip to keep the moan from escaping.

He stops, just as she hears his breath deepening, and pulls out, turning her again and pressing her back to the wall. He grabs her thighs and lifts and she wraps her legs around his waist, even as he's thrusting back in and finding the rhythm again.

It doesn't take long then. He kisses her and swears in whispers against her mouth, and he's hitting her just right as he thrusts in and up and she exhales hard into his shoulder as she comes, her arms locked around him like a vise. He slows but not much, and he makes a soft, ragged sound as he comes, pressing her so hard into the wall that she can barely breathe and she feels light-headed.

It takes a moment for her head to stop spinning. He's still inside of her, rocking against her, barely, panting next to her ear, and she rests a bit in his arms. He presses his lips to her neck and breathes slowly, and it's an odd moment. Affectionate, and awkward.

When the muscles in her legs start protesting, she shifts, dislodging him, and he grabs for the condom, quickly, dropping her.

"Shit," he whispers, and she disentangles herself from him as he takes care of it.

She pulls her underwear on, and her shirt, and then she turns to find him pulling up his jeans, his gaze piercing as he watches her.

"You can't come here anymore," she tells him.

His brows slowly lower over his eyes and his lips curve sullenly. "You're just going to throw me out now?"

"I have a job," she says. "And they don't like it when we keep bad company. They take that shit seriously when the psych evaluations come due."

"What difference does it make?" he snaps. "It's not like I'm one of _your_ suspects. I don't fuck with kids."

She doesn't answer him. She crosses her arms and leans against wall.

He narrows his eyes and pulls his T-shirt on. "They already have a hard-on for you, don't they?" he guesses.

She presses her lips together tightly and doesn't answer.

He smirks. "What did you do, piss in the boss's coffee? Arrest someone you shouldn't have?" He pauses. "Refuse to fuck someone who matters?"

She lifts her eyes to his and fixes him with an intense glare.

He steps into his boots, leaving the laces untied, and walks up on her, planting his palms on the wall on either side of her. "Tell me who he is," he murmurs. "I'll take care of him."

"You're wrong," she states.

He studies her for a moment and then leans in closer. She feels his lips brush her ear, and she shivers. "I'm not worried," he says, quietly. "You can't walk away from me, just like I can't walk away from you."

She tries to move and he's quicker. He blocks her in with his body and rests one hand against the side of her head as his mouth touches her ear again. "I'm inside you," he says, and she clenches her jaw. "I see you, Olivia. Those normal guys you try and fuck every few months, they run as soon as they get ankle-deep, don't they? But I won't."

She shoves him away, finally, and he goes, but he looks back at her before he closes the door. "You're a lot more like me than you think you are."

She has a _fuck you_ on the tip of her tongue, ready to fling it at him, but then he's gone and her apartment is silent and she's left to sink down to her heels and wonder if he's right.

~end~


End file.
